


yield to the flood of your beauty

by lanyon



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Undercover, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, despite receiving death threats, Steve insists on attending a charity ball and Bucky insists on being his date, undercover and shameless, too. (In which Steve can dance, even if words are hard to come by.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	yield to the flood of your beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haipollai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/gifts).



> This is for **haipollai** , one of my favourite people in the world, and comes largely from a conversation-by-text we had. Short, and hopefully sweet, and largely an attempt to get writing again. <3

Tony Stark might be stubborn and Nick Fury and all of S.H.I.E.L.D. might be implacable but none of them can compare to Steve Rogers when he digs his heels in. 

“It’s a charity ball to raise money for _sick children_ ,” says Steve. “I don’t care how many death threats you _say_ have been-”

“Three hundred and eight and a half and counting-” says Stark.

“I’m going,” says Steve. “I’m a patron for St Jude’s-”

“And we know you’re a sucker for a lost cause.”

“Can it, Stark. If Steve says he’s going, he’s going.”

Steve smiles at Bucky who walks into the room like a breath of fresh air disguised as a hurricane.

“Captain Rogers can go,” says Fury, finally, as though he’s been waiting for a chance to get a word in edgeways (as though he ever has to wait for any such thing). 

“Director Fury, I don’t think-”

“-provided he brings a date who’ll double as a bodyguard. Agent 13 -”

“-is about the worst choice ever, Fury,” says Bucky. He sits down next to Steve. “Anyway, she’s on medical leave after that thing in Kiev.”

“Then Widow-”

“-would scare all the children.”

“I don’t think that they let actual sick children go to a sick children’s ball,” says Stark, not unreasonably. “Three hundred and nine and a half.”

“Agent Hand-”

“-would scare all the grown-ups.”

“This isn’t an episode of _The Bachelor_ , Barnes,” says Fury, a vein starting to throb in his temple.

“Agent Hill can’t walk in heels, Agent Lewis isn’t field-ready and we are _not_ sending the Cavalry in-”

“Aren’t we?” asks Fury. “I had no idea you were acting Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Not if you paid me,” says Bucky, cheerfully. “Look, just leave it with me, Nick. I’ll find your gal.”

Fury looks faintly flummoxed and Steve’s faring no better.

“She has to be S.H.I.E.L.D.-sanctioned, Barnes.”

“You got it totally wrong. She has to be me-sanctioned. If there’s one thing I know, it’s pulling Steve’s ass out of trouble.”

Stark stares between Fury and Bucky, catching Steve’s eye only briefly before he starts whistling something that Steve doesn’t recognise. He stands up and checks his tablet. “Three hundred and ten and a half. Who knew that you were so offensive, Cap?”

“You better have this, Barnes,” says Fury. 

Bucky just grins. “Always do.”

Steve knows he should feel nervous. Back in the war, Bucky’s plans were seldom complicated and seldom subtle; he was capable of great strokes of genius, certainly, but they were few and far between. Bucky’s smile, though. It’s always inspired confidence in Steve. He claps Steve on the shoulder. “Leave it with me, pal. Your carriage’ll await at seven downstairs, okay? No pumpkins allowed.”

He walks out, leaving Steve alone. It won’t take long for Steve to get ready so he decides to go for a run on one of the treadmills in the gym a few floors down. The pounding of his feet does nothing to clear his head. He showers and changes into a tux and paces for about twenty minutes. The whole prospect of going to the ball, of showing his support for a worthy cause, has become exponentially more stressful since it became apparent he wasn’t allowed to go stag. Steve supposes he should see the positive side; all these years later, Bucky’s still trying to set him up.

Finally, fifteen minutes too early, he goes down to the foyer. It’s deathly quiet and he can only assume that Bucky’s threatened Stark with pain of something worse than death to keep his nose out. 

Steve’s busy studying the corner piece of one of the pillars when he hears the sound of stilettos on the marble hall behind him. _Not Hill, then_ , he thinks, half-hysterical. 

It’s not Hill. 

The dress is floor-length and the exact navy-blue of Bucky’s uniform in the war. It’s all sleek lines with the appearance of curves and there are delicate straps that criss-cross over shoulders that are, perhaps, a bit broad but no less beautiful for all their strength.

Bucky’s hair is artfully tousled and his make-up is simple and perfect, with red red lips and kohl-rimmed eyes and when he walks, after a brief twirl, his hips sway, unutterably feminine, and there’s a long flash of skin, from a thigh-high slit. 

Steve’s voice gets lost somewhere between his heart and his tongue. 

Bucky’s eyes are fixed on his. “Say somethin’, Steve. I know you’ve never been caught for words with me.” His voice is low and soft and lovely and Steve laughs shakily.

“You know ‘m no good with a pretty face, Buck,” he says. He reaches out and puts his hand on Bucky’s left arm. 

“Fake skin,” says Bucky. “Stark prototype.”

“You’ve got goosebumps,” says Steve, his own voice hushed and shaky.

“Don’t gloat,” says Bucky. “And give me your arm, like a proper gentleman.”

Steve does as he’s told. For all that he is a captain and a leader, he will always do as this man commands.

He’s quiet in the car but his fingers stay tangled with Bucky’s on the seat between them. 

“They’re all gonna wonder who you are, Buck,” he says, softly.

“Let ‘em wonder,” says Bucky.

They walk the gauntlet of photographers and flashing lights and Bucky’s chin is dipped and his eyelashes lowered, demure and quiet and more dangerous than any of Stark’s catalogue of threats. 

Steve doesn’t know how he survives dinner, with Bucky’s thigh pressed against his and his fingers curled around Steve’s wrist. He believes it. _That’s the worst of it,_ he thinks, wretchedly. The worst of it is how real it feels. 

“No one knew that Captain America is in love,” says a rich, Swiss benefactor. She has a throaty laugh and Bucky watches her like she’s a mark or an inspiration. 

“Don’t frighten him,” says Bucky, leaning against Steve’s arm. 

“I understand,” says Mlle Grosjean and Steve has no idea what she understands. “Best to have the diamond first, _non_?”

Bucky laughs and it is as throaty and more seductive than Mlle Grosjean’s laugh. “Best to have a dance first,” he says and before Steve knows what’s happening, Bucky’s leading him by the hand to the dance floor.

“You’re leading,” says Bucky, as though Steve would do anything else. 

“Buck,” says Steve, helplessly. He looks at Bucky and they’re at the same level, eye to eye and nose to nose and mouth to mouth, because Bucky’s in ridiculous heels and he’s swaying closer to Steve. 

“ _Buck_ ,” he says again. This is not the first time he has thought about Bucky this way and it sure as hell won’t be the last. This is not the first time he has danced and this won’t be the first time he takes someone home (Steve Rogers has adapted to the twenty-first century more than anyone has suspected). 

“Buck.” It’s the only word he can say.

Bucky winds his arms around Steve’s neck and they are cheek to cheek. “You sound like a forlorn chicken,” he says, softly. “Buck-buck-buck.”

Steve laughs because he can’t help it. He takes a step back and twirls Bucky and dips him down low so that they are mouth to mouth again (and tongue to fleeting tongue) until he sweeps him upright. “Not so forlorn,” he says. 

“Mr Rogers,” says Bucky. “Are you trying to seduce me?” 

Steve smiles, courage come from somewhere deep inside, between his heart and his tongue, where the only word he can craft is Bucky’s name. “Well, I could just commend you for dedication to undercover work,” he says. 

“I’ll show you undercover,” says Bucky, his voice a more familiar growl, and Steve’s fingers tighten on the silk at Bucky’s hip. “And I mean under-the-covers.”

“I know what you mean, Sergeant Barnes,” says Steve and he smiles at Bucky’s cross expression, and at the way a flush creeps across Bucky’s smooth cheeks.

“Who gave you the right, Rogers?” he demands. Steve’s hand creeps around to cup Bucky’s ass. “Who gave you the right to be so fucking good at this?”

Steve hides his smile against Bucky’s shoulder, mouthing softly at the straps of his dress. “I learned from this kid I knew. Made all the girls crazy.” Steve pauses for a breath and for a heartbeat that strikes the only truth he has ever known. “Made me crazy, too.”

“Makin’ me crazy, Rogers.” Bucky tilts his head. “Take me home?”

“We should never have left,” says Steve, and he thinks maybe they shouldn’t have; not when there is an expanse of skin beneath this dress and even if none of Tony’s threats materialised, Steve thinks that death is the least of his worries while James Buchanan Barnes lives and breathes and laughs beside him.

“But what about the children? Won’t you please think about the - _oh_.” 

(No one knows the identity of Captain America’s mystery brunette girlfriend, though Swiss diplomat Sylvie Grosjean declares that they are very much in love. Not even Tony Stark can access the heavily-censored S.H.I.E.L.D. report and Fury’s saying nothing and if there’s a navy silk dress pooled on the floor of Captain America’s bedroom, and ripped stockings hanging over the headboard, Captain America’s saying nothing, either. Bucky Barnes, on the other hand, says it all with his wide smile and the stubble burn on the insides of his thighs.)

**Author's Note:**

> (The tune whistled by Tony Stark is, of course, _My Boyfriend's Back_ )  
> Title from Leonard Cohen's _Take this Waltz_.


End file.
